"You have to stop lying to him," Bonnie said.
We sat under cover of the hall outside the gym with our lunches, watching the rain pour over the parking lot outside. I was feeling somewhat attacked. Over the weekend I had begun to justify my lies, at least to myself, and reasoned that it wouldn't matter. Russell wouldn't find out anyway - it's not like my mother was going to come and get me. "If I could, I would. You know, I told him that first lie before he was anything to me."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Somehow it had been more appealing - certainly, telling Russell my mother had died was less painful than the reality: She didn't want me. But I'm not sure I knew all that at the time, and I was certainly aware of my limited ability to explain it to Russell in a way he'd understand. "It doesn't matter. He's not going to find out anyway."
"What if you forget part of your story and he remembers it?"
"I never talk about it anyway."
"What if you get hurt and something happens and they identify you? And Russell finds out that your real name isn't even Hazel?"
"God," I said. "I don't want to think about it."
Bonnie chewed her peanut butter and jelly sandwich thoughtfully and looked out toward the parking lot. "What would he do if you went home today and sat him down and told him everything?"
The thought made me feel ill. "I don't think I could do that."
"But if you did."
"I don't know. I guess he'd start yelling at me. Or worse, he'd go all quiet like he did on Saturday. And when I looked through his stuff. And then he might kick me out."
"He'd kick you out?"
"I don't know," I said helplessly. "That's the problem. You have your parents, you could probably murder someone and they'd still have to take care of you because you're their kid. Russell's got a line and I don't know where it is. So I have to try to be perfect."
Bonnie put her sandwich down and looked at me like I was stupid. "So why don't you ask him where it is."
I paused. This hadn't occurred to me; in fact, it merited further thought. I had my doubts, though. Russell might think that I was asking him for license to screw up. It was a little absurd. Russell, I imagined myself saying, exactly how much can I get away with while I'm living here? No. No, it would never work.
"You already said there aren't any rules," Bonnie said.
"We talked about it awhile ago. After he got mad at me for going out without saying anything. But we never really made any rules. I can't even remember why." I rubbed an eye. "Bonnie, what if he tells me something I don't want to hear?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know, like...." I focused on the rain only feet away, searching my worries for something possible. "Like what if he says, yeah, you know what, I was thinking it's not so great having you here after all, social services will be by at eight to pick you up."
"That won't happen."
I was quiet. I wasn't so sure as Bonnie, and I couldn't afford to be, either.
We finished lunch and I took our paper bags and wrappers and walked them over to the trash can. Bonnie sat inert and cold, hugging her knees and staring out at the rain. Like at home, the halls were open to the elements, sheltered only by a roof that, in places, leaked. California's economy at its finest, my history teacher had told us without humor, and the class had laughed nervously, unsure whether she was joking.
Oliver was up the hall with a friend, and when he saw me drop the wad of paper into the garbage can, he turned and said something to his friend and headed toward me. We had gone out on Friday night, properly, though I wasn't ready to try a movie again; instead we got in his car and had dinner at a little sushi place in Pacifica. I wasn't sure about sushi, but he seemed to think it was the best thing ever. After dinner, I still wasn't sure, and furthermore, I was in a temper over the difficulty of chopsticks, a predicament which Oliver had taken with rather too much levity for my taste. I was pleased to find that I still had a backbone, though (it had largely disappeared during my time in Russell's house, and I missed feeling tough), and we ended the evening on a more pleasant note; he had quite possibly planning the parking of his car a few blocks away, and hand in hand, we walked and discussed various social aspects of school. I found, to my surprise, that holding hands wasn't as scary as I thought it had been.
That night I waited up for Russell, who came home late from his evening with Mia. Tucked under a blanket on the couch, I was reading (As I Lay Dying, which he seemed to wholly approve of, though I couldn't see the attraction), and when he walked in I turned to him and said, "What happens when he tries to put an arm around me?"
To my annoyance, this question had inspired great pity in Russell, who paused with the door wide open and said, softly, "I don't know, Peanut." After a lengthy discussion we had determined that I was to come somewhat clean with Oliver and hope he understood. Russell offered to be the one to talk to him, but I thought it would scare Oliver off. I had been avoiding his phone calls since.
But Monday came and explanations needed to be given. How hard it was to tell the truth. I stood at the garbage can and watched him jog up to me. We wore nearly the same thing: Jeans and green T-shirts and brown jackets. "Hi," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bonnie watching us, and I wondered if she was jealous.
"Hi," he said, and we both paused. It was still hard to find things to talk about. "Friday night was pretty awesome, huh?"
I disagreed - "relatively good" seemed more accurate - but I nodded anyway. "Yeah. We should... do it again." Except neither of us could really afford to. "Or you could come over to my house." Which meant that I would have to explain my relationship with Russell or I'd have to lie more, for the sake of preserving the father-daughter show he had sold to the school. Realizing this, I flushed with quiet fury: Was I not supposed to have friends I could confide in? And in the same moment I thought that I was rather lucky to be at school at all, and ought not to complain.
"Are you okay?" he said.
"Yeah. I'm fine. I don't know if my dad would want me to bring someone home without him being there, though."
"What about going over to my house?"
I thought about it. I didn't want to be alone with Oliver, though he'd never given me any indication that he was to be distrusted. "I don't know. Is your mom going to be home or something? Just 'cause my dad." Momentarily I felt guilt for laying the blame on Russell, but I didn't think he'd mind.
"He's really strict, huh?"
I shrugged. "He's funny about certain things." Here was an opening for the physical-affection talk, but I quailed. What if Oliver laughed at me? Who was I to assume he'd ever want to actually, you know, touch me, or worse, kiss me? Just for something to do, and because I knew it wouldn't feel bad, I took one of his hands in both of mine. "Maybe like the library? Or we could walk somewhere."
"Your hands are freezing." He cupped them in both of his. I glanced toward Bonnie and she gave me a thumbs-up. "Maybe I can talk to your dad and he'd be okay with it."
"Maybe," I said uncertainly.
"I gotta go." Oliver gave my hands one last rub and dropped them. "I'll call you, okay?"
"Okay."
Giddy despite the exchange, I half-ran back to Bonnie and sat down and recounted the conversation for her. And in true Bonnie fashion, she leaned forward, tucked her hair behind her ears and said, "Okay. Here's what you do."
